


Numb

by animegrl421



Category: South Park
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Character Death, Depression, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-07-18
Updated: 2013-12-05
Packaged: 2018-01-03 15:23:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1072045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/animegrl421/pseuds/animegrl421
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kyle's life takes a turn for the worse after he announces that he's gay to his parents. His home life falls apart. When he gets the chance to leave, he takes it. With only a guitar on his back and his wits, will he be able to survive in France? </p>
<p>Warning: This story contains dealing with death. If this in some way triggers you, please do not read. Will be recurring theme.<br/>Another Warning: Due to recent death in family, this story has not been worked on in over a year. Am working on another chapter but cannot guarantee when it will be done and posted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Announcements of the Worst Sort

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This story contains dealing with death. If this in some way triggers you, please do not read. Will be recurring theme.  
> Another Warning: Due to recent death in family, this story has not been worked on in over a year. Am working on another chapter but cannot guarantee when it will be done and posted.

Kyle Broflovski strummed his guitar strings as he listened to the sounds of his parents arguing. Used to the now-common occurrence, he continued to strum. He was currently on his bed with papers strewn across the cover in front of him. He himself was sitting cross-legged with his favorite (and only) guitar on his lap. His normal hat was gone, and his chin-length red hair was let loose. In the hair, above his ear, was a pen he kept for moments when he got inspired enough to write down an idea. He continued to play, making sure to play as quietly as possible so his mother and father's attention wouldn't be taken off each other and focused on him anytime soon.

His mother, Sheila, hates his guitar-playing, while his father doesn't really mind it. She used to always yell at his father, Gerald, for encouraging his love for music by buying him the instrument in the first place. She thought music was a waste of time, while his father was all-for the hobby. They used to argue over it before his mom gave in first (which was very rare). But their arguments then were nothing like their arguments now.

About three months ago, Kyle had made an announcement that had completely changed his family life. Kyle frequently thought of that night. He had announced it after dinner. That day his brother had been away at college (the genius had skipped high school altogether much to their parents' joy). And his high school had been out for spring break. He had been trying to tell them for a long time before then, but he'd never been able to say it. That night, he was finally able to say it. Unfortunately, he had underestimated their reactions. Had he known how bad the rest of his spring break his summer vacation would be, he would've just kept his mouth shut.

His thoughts strayed to how he had looked through his Torah for answers. It didn't help though, not one bit. He wished he had at least one Jewish friend in South Park that he could talk to, but all of his friends were Roman Catholics. He knew their religions were alike in some parts (very few parts), but it wasn't the same. He didn't know of any rabbi nearby that he could confront, only Jesus who lived down the street. And, being Jewish, he couldn't go to Jesus for advice... Kyle shook his head and tried to concentrate only on his music.

He paused in his playing when he thought back to some of the more embarrassing parts of his search. He learned that looking on the internet wasn't the best thing to do, despite how much information is found on there. He remembered some of the images he saw and his face burned with the memory. At least the internet had confirmed his feelings… Kyle looked down at his music sheet and thought of more notes. Eventually though, he ended up thinking about the screams downstairs. He could hear his mother's outrage and malice in her voice. He continued to play almost mechanically as he thought back to three months ago.

_Kyle took a deep breath. No matter what he tried his nerves wouldn't settle. "Kyle, what's wrong? Are you sick?" his mother, Sheila, asked. She was one of the reasons for his nervousness at the moment. Kyle forced his head to shake "no." His mother wouldn't take that answer though, and continued to pester him. Not that he had expected her to do anything but. She never made his life easy. "You look so pale, though!" she stated. Kyle would have normally rolled his eyes over her constant mothering, but at the current time, he could care less. He stared down at the table._

" _I, I have something to talk to you about…" he began slowly. His voice shook slightly and his cheeks burned in embarrassment of his news. Tonight had to be the night, if he didn't do it now, he never would. Of course, he always thought that before he backed out of the situation entirely._

" _What is it Kyle? Did something happen at school?" she asked, pausing for a moment to think. Before Kyle could gather himself enough to get another word in, she continued on with look of horror creeping onto her features. "Don't tell me you failed that Physics test?" she implied. "I told you to study more, but you didn't liste-"_

" _Mom!" Kyle interrupted, "I didn't fail the Physics exam!" he pushed. Kyle knew his mother wouldn't like his tone, but to be fair he had something important to say and damn it, he was going to say it now!_

" _Kyle Broflovski! Don't you dare take that tone with me!" Sheila protested loudly._

_Kyle knew he had to be quick about his announcement if he wanted to get it in before her lecture about tones began. Not allowing himself to pause for a moment, he stood up from the table, and in his most daring moment of courage, he said what he had been hiding for years now. "I'm gay!" he said loudly. For a moment, a very brief moment, there was complete silence, then:_

_**BANG!** _ _His father, who happened to be reading a law book at the time, dropped his large book onto the floor, resulting in the loud sound. Kyle winced outwardly at the sudden noise, but forced himself to keep his head up._

_He dared a glance at his mother, who looked like she was having a heart attack. One hand was on her heart while the other was on the counter behind her. She gave him a look that he would remember for the rest of his life. The look was one of pure disgust. As if he had just told her that he had eaten a live rat, or had told her that he had some kind of venereal disease. He winced again as his former bravery left him. Finally, his mom said what he knew she was going to say:_

" _Wh-wh-WHAT?" she screamed. Kyle bit his lip at the sound and glared at the table in front of him in his own quiet disgust. He wasn't sure if he was disgusted with his mother's reaction or his own mind's want for a male lover. Maybe it was a little of both._

_His dad finally snapped out of his own shock, "K-Kyle, are, are you sure?" Gerald asked quietly, borderline whispering. Kyle dared a glance to where his father sat and noted that his father wasn't quite as disgusted as his mother was, but the shock was still there. Before Kyle could so much as breathe, his father did something startling. He laughed. The laugh was humorless; empty. "You, you're joking, right?" Kyle looked about ready to answer when his father stopped laughing suddenly and started to speak. "Kyle, you are joking, right?" his tone was pleading this time._

_Kyle looked up a little so he could meet his father's eyes and tried to speak only to have the words come out in an incomprehensible choking sound. A lump had formed in his throat and he could barely breathe. He chose to shake his head "no." His heart felt like it was going to explode in his chest. He had known before that his parents would be shocked, but nothing had prepared him for their actual reactions. His chest tightened considerably when he saw his father's face go red. His hands touched the table in front of him for support. The room lapsed into another uncomfortable silence. This silence, however, had filled the room with auras of anger and hatred._

_Gerald finally regained his senses, "Go to your room, Kyle." he stated. The order didn't register in Kyle's mind at first, so he hesitated. "I said: Go to your room." Gerald repeated. Kyle barely noticed that he was trembling when he took his hands off the table. Before he could move out of the kitchen, his mother stopped him._

" _How could you?" she asked quietly. Then, her hate caught up with her, "This is serious, Kyle Broflovski! This better not be some joke!" Kyle turned to her and shook his head slightly, then he bit his lip so hard it bled as he waited for something, anything, to happen. His eyes widened when she walked over to him, her shoes making soft clicks on the floor. When she was in front of him, she did something he'd never forget. She slapped him._

Kyle paused his playing when an idea for a new song hit him. He let go of the instrument and got out his pen from behind his ear. Humming the tune he just came up with so that he wouldn't forget it, he put the pen on the nearest paper with his homemade staffs on it and began to jot down his idea. He added a few words as he continued to hum. He focused entirely on his work so that he could ignore the screams coming from downstairs. He winced when he heard glass break, a scream of outrage following the sound.

Kyle closed his eyes briefly and forgot about the song entirely. He wished his life would go back to normal…

When the second sound of glass breaking came, he decided it was time to go. Normally he would be able to sneak out from the front door, but he knew he wouldn't be able to get by them without being mixed into the fight this time since his parents had decided to argue in the living room.

He placed his instrument in the case beside his bed. On top of the guitar, he placed a few of his papers and one pen. He closed the case and put on the strap while placing the case on his back. After adjusting the instrument to where it was in its most comfortable position, he put on his shoes. He couldn't get his jacket since he had foolishly left it downstairs, so he put on a sweater instead. Taking one more look around the room and ignoring the words being exchanged angrily downstairs, he opened his window and carefully began to climb down the pipe next to it. When he was a safe distance from the ground, he jumped. Landing with a soft thud, he stood and wiped the snow off his knees.

Kyle decided to go to Stan's house again. Since Stan seemed to be the only one who didn't curse him or ask him consistent questions. He always liked having a friend so supportive all the time. Though, after his parents' reactions to his sexuality, he hadn't told Stan about it. He didn't want to lose the friend he valued most. Not that he liked Stan in the "I want him to be my boyfriend," kind of way. No, Stan was like a brother to him. Albeit, an older brother by the way the boy protected him from the people that hated him at school. (Except from Cartman. Not that Kyle needed any help in a fight against that fat ass.)

There were many people that hated him at school. Craig was a huge enemy, Token another. Perhaps the reason they hated him so much was because he was the exact opposite of a football player, and they believed only boys that were tough like football players were worthy of their attention. That's why they liked hanging out with Stan, because the boy was not only on the team, but he acted like he was born to play the sport. Another reason that they hated Kyle: He was friends with Stan. Kyle didn't understand the high school drama about sports, but he used to play on the basketball team. _Used to_ because he had been made to quit after his parents found out that he was, in their words, a "faggot." Apparently, being in a sports team with boys was one cause of his "problem."

Not that there had been much school left after spring break. Only about a month and a half. But he had one more year to go before he finished high school once and for all. He used to long for the day to come so he could go to college. Now, he longed for the day so he could get out of his house and never come back. So much had happened in so little time… It was only one month into summer vacation and he was already wishing for school to start again. At least he would have an excuse to stay out of his house for roughly seven, if not eight, hours a day every weekday.

Kyle was shivering by the time he made it to Stan's house. Stepping onto the porch, he rang the doorbell. Less than a minute later, the door opened. "Oh, Kyle, come on in. Stan is up in his room." Sharon, Stan's mother, invited. Kyle nodded and thanked her before stepping inside. Sharon closed the door and noticed him shivering, "Kyle, why aren't you wearing your coat?" she asked worriedly.

"I forgot it, and I didn't want to go back and get it," Kyle replied without missing a beat. He hated lying to her like this, but he couldn't very well say that he had been avoiding his fighting parents so he couldn't go downstairs.

Sharon tsked at him and murmured something that sounded like "boys" before smiling. "I'll go make some hot chocolate then."

"Thanks, Mrs. Marsh," Kyle said as he finished taking off his shoes.

Sharon left the room to go to the kitchen, along the way telling him that she'll bring up the drinks in a few minutes. Kyle sighed and went upstairs to Stan's room. Along the way he took his guitar off his back and held it by the case's handle instead. When he arrived at Stan's bedroom door, he noticed the door was cracked open. He could see Stan sitting on his bed, playing his Game Cube.

Kyle knocked politely on the door to warn Stan that he was coming in. When he opened the door, Stan glanced at him quickly before going back to his game, "Hey Kyle," he greeted.

"Hey," Kyle replied. Stan had gotten used to his coming over by now so he didn't even ask why he was here at six o' clock at night. The main reason Kyle liked having Stan as a friend. The boy only asked once and if not answered, would never ask again. He supposed Stan thought he would tell him what was going on when he was ready to tell him. "Whatcha playing?" Kyle asked.

"Zombies IV," Stan replied. Kyle smiled as Stan's character was killed off on the game. "Damn!" Stan said, throwing the controller on the bed. "I can never get past that level!"

"Want me to try?" Kyle asked, sitting on the bed next to Stan and putting down his guitar.

"Why not?" Stan replied, shrugging. Stan offered him the controller, and he took it.

The next few hours consisted of Kyle and Stan taking turns on the Game Cube while consuming hot chocolate. When it was ten o' clock, they opted to rest the game and turned it off. "So, you staying over again?" Stan asked.

Kyle nodded, "If that's okay?" he asked unsurely.

Stan rolled his eyes, "Dude, when hasn't it been okay?"

Kyle smiled, "Thanks dude!"

After Kyle confessed to not bringing any extra clothes with him, Stan let him borrow some pajamas. Since Stan had more muscle than him, the pajamas were a bit big on him. Kyle quickly made up a pallet next to the bed with some extra blankets and pillows that Sharon provided. Once he made the pallet, he took out his guitar and resumed a position much like the one he was in before he had gotten off his bed at home. Though Stan's parents' room was downstairs, Kyle played quietly. Stan never minded much and had gotten used to the sounds of the music. Stan himself was currently on his bed, reading through a magazine.

"So, vacation is almost over, huh?" Stan asked, almost to himself.

Kyle paused in his writing, "Yeah, half-over to be exact."

Stan groaned and dropped the magazine on his chest. "I hate school."

Kyle laughed, "Good, because we only have one more year of it!"

Stan didn't laugh, "Not really, we have college after school…" he sighed. "I'm going to miss the required school years though. Like hanging out during vacation times and weekends…" Stan trailed off in his thoughts.

Kyle stared at him for a moment, and raised his eyebrow, "You know that we're still going to be able to hang out right?"

Stan looked back at him, "No, we're not. Kenny's going straight into work instead of going to college and Cartman is going to the community college with me while you're probably going to go to Harvard or some other university in some other state!"

Kyle frowned. He knew he was going to have to tell Stan sooner rather than later, "No, I'm not." he said quietly. "I don't have money enough to go to the university an-"

"Dude, you're going to get a scholarship there! You're going to be valedictorian, remember?" Stan interrupted.

Kyle sighed, "We don't know that for sure, and besides," he said, holding up his hand to stop Stan from talking, "I learned that a scholarship from South Park High School won't be enough for Harvard, or any other big university either. In fact, I'm going to have to go to South Park Community College instead."

Stan blinked, "What? Dude, you've been dying to go to Harvard for years! That's why you've been working so hard at school, and doing all those clubs! You've been talking about this since you were, like, five!" Kyle sighed and thought about all the clubs he had joined. He had worked so hard for years, but it wasn't enough.

Kyle shook his head, "I'm not going to get accepted into a full-ride. I looked it up and I don't have anything they're looking for…"

"Dude, you've been on honor roll since elementary school!" Stan stated.

"That's not enough for them!" Kyle stated, "They want someone noticeable; prodigy-like, even! Or someone with money enough to buy their way in!"

"What about that account your parents made for you when you were born, the one they've been saving money in for your college fees? You said they had enough to get you through college with some extra!" Stan protested.

Kyle silently cursed himself for telling Stan everything in his life. Well, almost everything… "I've been cut off from that." he said quietly.

Stan looked shocked and sat up to look down at his friend in concern, "Did something happen? I mean, I know I'm prying but you've barely been home since, like, months ago! And you quit basketball-which you love-saying that you just didn't like it anymore! Kyle, I've been friends with you since we were born! I know you!"

Kyle shook his head, "I'm sorry, Stan, I just don't want to tell you right now." he began, once again holding up his hand before Stan could protest, "But I will tell you soon!"

"I'm sorry, Kyle, it's just that…Even though we've been spending more time together-which is great- I'm just worried about you. You haven't so much as mentioned your home unless I brought it up myself, and you haven't wanted to talk about much except about other people. I know I shouldn't ask this of you, but please, just tell me what's going on."

Kyle sighed, even Stan couldn't help himself sometimes. It was probably the big-brother thing coming through. "It's just that…" Kyle began, not really knowing how to phrase this. He remembered his parents' reactions and his face burned in humiliation. "I, I told my parents something and they didn't exactly like it." he said after a moment of silence. "I mean, they hated it." he proceeded, getting lost in the memories. "And mom and dad started fighting about it. I mean, not like their normal fights, but bigger fights. And they've been keeping at it for awhile now. They wanted me to quit basketball because of it, and since I had to have their money to pay the fees of membership, I didn't have much of an option. Mom took away the money I had saved up and my cell phone, hell, she even took my book bag. She wanted to look through everything to…" Kyle stopped himself, he couldn't tell Stan everything. He wouldn't understand.

Stan looked a little uneasy at his friend. "So, they're being bastards then?" Stan questioned. Kyle nodded with a small smile at his choice of words. "Well, you're always welcome here, y'know?" Stan obviously was trying to occupy the awkward silence with assurances. Kyle knew Stan wanted to pry more, but was stopping himself. He knew Stan would ask again, but for now he would avoid that altogether.

"Thanks, dude," Kyle said with a grin at his friend. His cheeks were coming out of their reddened state, which Kyle was thankful for.

Stan grinned back, then added, "So, I forgot to ask, where is your hat at?"

Kyle reached up to his head in shock only to realize that he had really forgotten his hat. "Damn it, I forgot it at home!" he stated. His cheeks reddened again in embarrassment.

Stan laughed, "You know, you're the only one that still wears the hat around, why don't you just stop wearing it?" he asked.

"Well, to be honest?" Kyle began, trying to phrase this in this least-vain way he could. "My hair looks horrid without it!" he said pride fully, failing at his attempt to appear like a normal boy-a boy that could care less about his hair. He suddenly felt feminine at the remark. "Not that that's a big deal…" he began again, as Stan started to laugh at his expense. Kyle substituted words with violence as he threw the pillow behind him at Stan. Said-pillow hit Stan in the face, which only made the boy laugh harder.

Glad to be off less-entertaining topics, Kyle smiled widely at his friend. He couldn't imagine how much Stan would hate him after he told him that he wasn't exactly female-loving.

He decided that maybe this year, he would go without his hat. After all, it was so small now that it barely hid his hair, which didn't look as bad as it had in elementary school now that it had grown out more. Maybe he would burn the hat in a bon fire…

* * *

The next week Kyle stayed at Stan's house for the most part. Stan's parents had yet to ask him about why he was staying there so much, and for that he was grateful. Being at his friend's house was like a vacation within itself. That Friday, he had planned on staying at home for a night, to make his parents think that he was home all that week. Unfortunately, Saturday he stayed home as well, not that he had really wanted to, not with what had happened just that morning.

Kyle currently sat on the middle step of the stairs, leaning his back against the wall. He hugged his knees tightly to his chest; his head resting on his knees. It was about 4:00 in the afternoon at the moment. His eyes were puffy and slightly red, much to his chagrin.

Kyle banged his head against the wall behind him. His mother and father had gotten into a huge fight, again. Only this time his mother had suggested that Kyle was _possessed_ by an evil spirit. A _perverted_ evil spirit, to be exact. His father, however disagreed, he said that his mother was the one possessed since she had yet to help her son understand how wrong being a homosexual was. Soon, his dad had grown tired of arguing his case and just left the house instead. Much to Kyle's horror, his mother took this opportunity to begin yelling at him instead. Apparently, Kyle's evil was spreading to his father.

The reason Kyle was in his current position wasn't because of the usual fight between his mother. Instead, it was because of his father. He had woken to loud screams in the middle of the night:

_Kyle groaned,_ morning already? _he thought. Opening his eyes and looking at his window, he frowned. It was still dark outside. He turned to his alarm clock numbly only to realize with a jolt that it was only 3:00 AM. He blinked and got up from his bed, stumbling slightly. The yells were getting louder as he opened his bedroom door a bit. He could see the light under his parents' door._

_Kyle could make out what was being yelled behind his parents' bedroom door:_

" _Damn it, Sheila! He's just a teenager, he needs to make this decision himself in the future! He doesn't need it forced upon him by you!" Gerald argued._

" _But, Gerald, he's sick! He needs to be where our people are! He'll be among our kind, away from these perverted people here in South Park! They have completely destroyed his mind! Why, he would never think that the way he is if he was there! He wouldn't b-"_

" _STOP IT!" Gerald screamed. "You're doing it again! You're not taking his feelings into account!"_

" _His feelings? That's what you call this? You make it sound like he's normal!" Sheila replied angrily._

" _Because he IS normal! He's just on the wrong track!" Gerald snarled._

" _He is NOT normal!" Sheila screamed. "He's a perver-"_

" _Don't you DARE say that vile word again!" Gerald said. There were some sounds of things being thrown across the room._

_Before Kyle could fully register what was happening, the door to his parents' room slammed open. He flinched and pushed his bedroom door closed a little more so it looked almost closed to the outsider. He could make out his father's back as his eyes adjusted to the light coming out of his mother and father's bedroom. What Kyle found the most odd was the suitcase in his father's hand._

" _No, Sheila, I'm sick and tired of your constant nagging!" Gerald stated sternly._

_Sheila looked close to crying from her position in front of her husband. "Gerald, you don't understan-"_

" _I UNDERSTAND PERFECTLY!" Gerald cried, "YOU are the one who doesn't understand!" Gerald turned to face Kyle's door, "Kyle, get out here right now!"_

_Kyle took a deep breath and opened the door all the way to reveal himself. Gerald's eyes softened some, "I'm going to be going away for awhile." he told Kyle._

_Kyle felt a sudden sense of nausea, "Wh-what?" he asked._

_Gerald didn't answer, he just gave Kyle a pat on the head, "I'm sorry," he said lamely._

Kyle would always remember the way his father turned and left him. The way his back looked as it slowly receded down the stairs. The sound of the front door slamming shut and the car turning on. He now wished he had followed his dad. Had begged him to stay. Without his dad there, his mother was a wreck. She wouldn't so much as look his way. Any room with him in it was an empty room.

Later on, around 7:00AM that same morning, the doorbell rang. Kyle thought it unusual but he had answered anyway. How he wished he had stayed at Stan's yesterday.

_Kyle opened the door with slight hesitation. For some reason his chest felt like it wasn't getting enough air. He shook his head as he pulled the door open all the way to reveal Officer Barbrady. If it wasn't odd enough that the officer had come to his house early in the morning, he also had his hat off. Kyle's chest constricted when it hit him. Maybe it was his imagination, maybe the officer was looking for someone and had taken off his hat… That didn't make much sense, even in his mind._

" _Is this the Broflovski household?" the officer asked._

_Kyle nodded, a sense of foreboding hitting him. He could hear his mother walking up behind him. "What's going on officer?" she asked unsurely._

" _Are you in any way related to a Gerald Broflovski?" he asked._

_Kyle nodded with his mother. "He's my husband. Has he done something?" she asked._

_The policeman looked down to the ground, "I'm sorry, miss, but this morning there was an accident…"_

It had been almost like a dream, like he wasn't really there. An out-of-body experience. Kyle's hands trembled as he pulled his legs closer. He hid his head in his knees, seeking comfort from himself. His father was really gone. And he hadn't even had a chance to say how sorry he was for ever being gay. It was all his fault and he knew it.

" _Mr. Broflovski had too many drinks…his car had a head-on collision with another car…" the officer paused and took a deep breath. Kyle's own breath stopped in his throat. He couldn't feel anything, his mind stopped. Time seemed to slow when the officer spoke four more words:_

" _There were no survivors."_


	2. Brash Actions

Kyle slowly knelt in front of his father's gravestone, his eyes taking in the freshness of the dirt underneath him and the gravestone's newly carved letters. He reached out and traced his father's name. He bit his lip to keep it from trembling. Tears began to fall down his cheeks as he continued to trace the letters. His mind felt numb as he stared with empty eyes where his father lay in eternal rest, while his body moved mechanically.

He pulled his hand back slowly and took out a small stone from his pocket. Placing it on top of the gravestone, he bowed his head and prayed. (1) He didn't know how long he stayed there until he felt a hand on his shoulder. He glanced over to see Stan standing beside him reassuringly.

He felt bad for asking Stan to come with him to visit his father's grave, but he didn't want to go alone. It had been a week and a half since he had heard the news but the pain of the loss still felt new. The burial had taken place soon after the announcement, and shiva had only just been finished. (2) Ike was at home now, and Kyle hadn't the heart to ask his brother to come with him here. Not when Kyle felt all this guilt. He blamed himself for taking away their father, for leading his father to drinking by straying into homosexuality. Now, he would never get the chance to make up with his father, and in turn he would never make up with his mother.

Kyle knew she blamed him by the way she looked at him. With that look on her face. The look nearing the one full of disgust from the day he announced his sexuality. Sometimes it was full of distaste for him, while other times it was just blank. She hadn't spoken to him except to tell him what needed to be done around the house so far. He knew it was only a matter of time before she finally told him exactly what she thought of him. But until that time, he would be ignored by her completely.

He touched the hand on his shoulder for comfort as he felt his chest tighten. He wiped the tears away from his cheeks with the sleeve of his jacket. He looked up to the sky to see it mocking him with its beauty. His father would never again see that sky…

Stan helped him up from the ground and placed his own stone on top of the gravestone as Kyle had. Kyle knew Stan didn't understand the reason for the stone, or even most of the customs that had taken place this past week, but he was grateful for him not asking questions about them. He could vaguely remember explaining different traditions to Stan at his Bar Mitzvah (3) and softly smiled at the memory.

Stan gave his shoulder a squeeze and started to walk away from the gravesite. Kyle took one more look at his father's grave and made a silent promise to come back again. He followed Stan to the car and got in the passenger's seat, buckling up automatically.

* * *

Kyle mentally made a list of all the things he needed to do now. He had just finished helping his cousins pack, and he was irritable from not having something else to do. They had come for the burial, and with them they had brought a rabbi from the synagogue they belonged to.

The rabbi had been a huge help in preparations and during shiva. He wasn't to leave until the day after his cousins left. Kyle thought about trying to talk to the rabbi about his problems, but he was nervous. He had never talked to a rabbi before, being that he lived in a place where he knew only Roman Catholics, and he wasn't sure how to approach the man.

Though, once he got the courage to go up to the man, he didn't know what he was going to say. Kyle wasn't used to talking about his feelings to someone he didn't know and he wasn't about to start anytime soon. Not to mention that he had his doubts about that the man would be able to tell him any decent advice that didn't come directly from the Torah.

Stan was always there, but Kyle was too nervous about how his friend would react to his news to go up to him. Kyle had briefly even thought about talking to Kenny, since the boy was friendly enough, but had shoved the idea aside quickly. Not that he didn't trust Kenny, he did, but because he didn't want to tell someone other than his best friend first. If Stan reacted badly, he might find out that Kenny knew and would be mad at the boy. But, if he reacted nicely then he would be upset that he wasn't the first person Kyle had went to for help.

Kyle shook his head. His thoughts were the reason for him wanting to be busy at all times. Either he was thinking about coming out or he was thinking about his dad. He did have the rare happy thought, but that was it. He bit his lip as he went out the front door. It was actually warm outside today, for which he was grateful. The weather had been cold all summer, especially at night, which made it impossible for Kyle to enjoy his summer in any way at all. He had to be the most cold-blooded person in South Park.

He walked aimlessly around the small town, letting his thoughts wonder. Over two hours had passed before he found himself back at his house. He knew immediately when he arrived that something was wrong. His mother was standing on the porch and his cousins' car was gone. He took a deep breath and proceeded to walk to the porch. His mother's eyes followed his movements and she motioned for him to follow her inside. He did so.

When they were in the living room, she stopped walking, Kyle followed suit. He glanced around the room and found the rabbi standing next to the stair landing. Kyle bit his lip. He quickly grew nervous by the silence, and had to say something. "So…" he began. His words made the room feel awkward.

Finally, he was saved from talking by the rabbi. "Your mother told me everything." he began gently. Kyle's face turned from nervous to scared in seconds. "She has stressed to me her feelings on the matter and I completely agree with her decision."

Kyle tried to look at his mother in confusion only to see her turn away from him. "Wh-what's going on?" he asked carefully.

"We only want the best for you Kyle, rest assured. We want to take you to a place that will take care of you sickness." the rabbi continued without missing a beat. "But there has been some concerned raised over the cost. I have agreed to pay for the cost for you with some donations for just this type of thing."

Kyle gulped, "Go wh-where exactly?" His voice trembled.

"The Hebrew Center for Misguided Teens." the rabbi stated. "They take in Jewish teenagers that have been well, misguided." He then reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like paper.

Kyle's eyes widened, "What?" he asked quietly.

"It's for the best Kyle. Rabbi Joseph knows some people there that said they'll take you." his mother replied before the rabbi could. "You need to be with people that can teach you how to be normal." she added as if that summed up everything he needed to know.

Rabbi Joseph walked over to him and handed him the paper he had taken out earlier. Kyle gaped at the paper when he read it. It was a plane ticket to Canada. The rabbi then handed him another item, his passport.

Kyle wasn't sure how to reply, his voice wouldn't work even if he was sure. The lump in his throat was making it difficult to breathe. His breaths came out in quick spurts. "You, you want to get rid of me?" he managed weakly.

He didn't wait for an answer as his shock ran through his body. And suddenly, he wasn't just sad anymore. He was angry. After his father had died all his mother could think about was getting rid of her son. Kyle couldn't believe her actions. She hadn't even asked him about whether or not he wanted to go. If his father was here he would have…But he wasn't here, and Kyle had to shake himself away from those thoughts.

He felt his face burn with rage, "Do I have a choice in this?" he asked in a low tone. He couldn't keep his breathing in check and it was only a matter of time before he wasn't able to control his words.

"You're going." his mother declared. "Rabbi Joseph already got everything set up. You're to leave tomorrow." She paused in thought before continuing, "It's about time we got you cured. Just think, when you get better, you can come back here." she said this as if it was a reassurance. "But until you've lost all thoughts of those… _perversions,_ then you are not welcome in my home." She just _had_ to add the next part. Kyle duly noted his mother's true colors. Not that he wasn't used to them by now.

Kyle put a hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. It was beating harshly against his ribcage, which suddenly felt too small. His emotions suddenly crashed down on him, the rage, the nervousness, the frightened feelings, all crammed into his mind. His eyes began to fill with water. His mind was being too overworked by the strain of feelings. He couldn't just focus on his anger anymore. He had to focus on all of his emotions at once, and that was too stressful. He couldn't say anything more. He couldn't even think clearly. His body shook and he had to force himself to move. He focused his mind on one thought to keep himself moving. He had to talk to Stan. Tonight.

* * *

Here he stood, a shaking mess beside Stan's bedroom door, thinking about the past. He felt sick and focused on the memories to keep himself from emptying the contents of his stomach. Everything was happening too fast. His coming out to his parents, his dad's burial, and now his leaving South Park to go be with some strangers at a homophobic "center." His vision blurred as he raised a fist and knocked on Stan's door. He couldn't even hear the sound, not with how loud his heart was beating at the moment. The sound was so loud that his ears felt the pounding in each beat.

He rubbed his eyes roughly with his shirt sleeve, cursing his emotions. "Kyle?" Stan asked worriedly after opening his door. Kyle shook his head. He didn't trust himself to answer. He felt Stan's hand grab his. Before he knew what was happening, his friend was leading him onto the bed. Stan let go of his hand for a second to close the door and grab a box of tissues from his desk. He sat next to Kyle softly and handed his friend the box of tissues.

That did it. Kyle completely lost himself. He started to cry. He felt Stan's arms around him, patting him on the back comfortingly. Stan shushed him and said comforting words. It was clear that the boy thought he had a lapse of depression after remembering his father.

After a moment of being held so comfortingly after over two and a half months of being hated, Kyle had a complete breakdown. He started to feel his mouth begin to talk of its own accord. At first he was just stammering but after a few minutes, his speech came out with only a few stutters, hiccups, and sniffles interrupting him.

He told Stan everything. Starting from the time he started to think about men to the present. He included every detail he could. His dad's laugh, his mother's disgust, the fighting, even the day his dad had left home for the last time. He ended up talking about the center he was to go to, and was surprised to find that he could talk so monotone by this point. Stan never interrupted or asked a question in a pause. He was just listening intently, almost as if he knew how much his friend needed his silence.

He could feel Stan's shock, but he didn't stop to look his friend in the face. If he did, he would stop talking, and he couldn't risk that. He wanted to get it all out, _needed_ to after all that his emotions had been through. After he told Stan everything he could possibly remember and then more, his mouth stopped working. He couldn't say anymore. His mind was blank and his body numb. He felt as if nothing could make him upset or angry or even happy at the moment. It was as if him talking to Stan had released all his emotions. And he supposed it did.

Kyle didn't know when he had fallen asleep, but he knew he had definitely passed out last night when he woke up in Stan's bed with Stan's pajamas on. He blushed when he looked to the side of the bed and found his friend lying on a self-made pallet, sleeping. Kyle let a small smile appear on his face when he realized that Stan had put him in pajamas and laid him on the bed to sleep.

He yawned and rubbed his eyes; stretching. His eyes hurt, making him think back to the night before. The smile he'd had on vanished and a frown took its place. He tried to keep his breathing steady when he remembered exactly what he had said to his friend. He began to question everything. Did Stan hate him? Would his friend wish him good riddance since he was going to leave today? Or would Stan understand? He placed a hand on his chest, reassuring himself by thinking about how Stan hadn't woken him up and forced him from his home after hearing everything.

He looked at the alarm clock and noted with a shock that it was 12:09 PM. He was surprised Sharon hadn't woken them up yet, then again she probably had work today, and Stan's father wouldn't have cared if he happened to be here (which was doubtful since he usually worked during the day). Hearing rustling next to him, he looked down at the boy sleeping in the pallet next to him.

Stan stretched and groaned, snuggling into the covers for a moment before popping out quickly. He sat up and looked at Kyle with wide eyes, remembering what had happened. Stan's face reddened slightly, "So, some night, huh?" he asked unsurely.

Kyle nodded, "Yeah, it was…weird." he stated. An awkward silence came over them.

"So, you, um, left your guitar here the other day," Stan said absentmindedly. Kyle thought back to the last time he'd been at Stan's. With a shock, he realized that he left it there the day before the news arrived.

Kyle looked at him for a moment before laughing. "I feel so stupid."

Stan quirked an eyebrow, "Why?"

Kyle hid his face with his hand, "I thought that after I told you all this then you'd hate me. That everything would have changed."

Stan smiled, "Well, I was really stressed out about it for hours after you'd fallen asleep. - You were out completely, by the way.- But I got to really thinking about it and I don't see a reason to not be friends with you after all we've been through. So what if you're gay? It doesn't change the fact that we've been friends since we were born!" Stan said, rubbing the back of his neck. "And as long as you never hit on me then we're cool." he added with a small smile, gauging Kyle's reaction to his last words. When a pillow hit him in the face, he laughed.

"Stop being so self-absorbed! I wouldn't hit on you if you were the last man on Earth!" Kyle declared before blushing at his words. This was the first time he had ever stated something like that. If Stan noticed his sudden apprehension, he didn't say anything about it. Said-boy continued to laugh.

"I'm only joking," Stan said defensively. "I'm hot though, right?" He wiggled his eyebrows. Soon, another pillow hit him in the face. He growled, "You're going to run out of ammo soon, y'know?"

Kyle stuck his tongue out at him, the effect of the childish display ruined by his blushing. "Just because I'm gay, doesn't mean I can't fight!"

Stan stuck up his hands, "Sorry, sorry!"

Kyle smiled at him. He couldn't believe it had all worked out so nicely between him and Stan. To think, he'd worried so much over this beforehand… "So, I'm supposed to leave today…" Kyle began.

Stan blinked, having shoved that thought to the back of his mind. They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments before the sound of the doorbell ringing jolted them out of their thoughts. "I'll go get it." Stan said before heading out of the room.

Kyle sat stiffly as he strained his ears to listen to the conversation going on downstairs. When he failed at doing that, he got up from bed and started to get dressed to distract himself. When he was putting on his shoes, Stan entered the room. "Okay, we've got about fifteen to twenty minutes before someone comes up here to see if my story was true." he stated.

Kyle stopped tying his shoes and looked up at Stan in confusion. "What story?" he asked cautiously.

"The bullshit I made up about you not being here." Stan said, gathering some of his clothes around the room and grabbing a bag. "I'm sorry, but these clothes are the only ones I can give ya." he said.

Kyle quickly knotted his shoelace and got up from the bed, "Stan, what the hell are you talking about?"

Stan smiled at him as he pushed some more clothing into the bag. "Well, I can't very well let them take you to some center for misguided teens when you are most definitely _not_ misguided." Stan said, as if what he said explained everything.

Kyle's eyes widened when he realized what Stan was talking about. "B-but your mom saw me last night when she opened the door for me."

Stan shook his head, "But she's not here right now, is she?" He winked and went through the drawers in his dresser, getting more stuff for the bag.

"You're giving me too much," he commented, pointing at the amount of items Stan was putting into the bag.

"You're going to need it!" Stan said, going to the bathroom across from his room and rifling through the drawers in there. "You remember that ticket that the rabbi gave you?"

Kyle reached into his pocket and found the ticket there. Crinkled, yes, but still useable. "Yeah, it's right here."

"Trade it in for another ticket," Stan said, bringing some toiletries into the room. Noticing Kyle's look at the toothbrush, he rolled his eyes. "We just bought some new ones, this one has never been used." he assured.

Kyle smiled widely at him. "Don't you think this is too brash?"

"Brash?" Stan questioned, laughing. "Since when has brashness not been apart of life in South Park?" he asked.

Kyle laughed, suddenly feeling elated. "How am I to get to the airport?"

Stan looked at him with his eyebrow raised, "You know I have a car, right?" Stan clicked his tongue, then dropped down to the floor and looked under his bed for something. He came out with a small shoebox.

Kyle's eyes widened at the sight of it, "Stan, no, you've given me so much already! Clothes and help and a ride…"

Stan held up his hand, "Those won't help you when you're in a new country, Kyle." He opened the shoebox to reveal his life savings. Kyle bit his lip. He felt so bad that he was taking so much away from his friend.

"Thanks so much, Stan," Kyle said quietly, unused to getting so much at once.

Stan took out all the money, much to Kyle's dismay. "There's more than enough in here to last you a couple months." he said with a grin.

Kyle blinked at him, "Are you sure yo-"

"If I wasn't sure, I wouldn't be doing this," Stan interrupted, wagging his finger at him..

Kyle smiled, then looked at the clock, "How much time do we have left?" Kyle asked. The doorbell rang for the second time that day.

"About a minute max," Stan answered with a smirk. "We're going out by window."

Kyle nodded and grabbed the full bag from Stan's hands as Stan opened the window. He threw the bag out and it landed on the ground with a soft thud. He began to climb out by the pole when he suddenly had a thought, "Hand me my guitar," he stated.

Stan went back into his room and quickly grabbed the guitar, he handed it off to Kyle. Kyle put the strap on as fast as he could and hurried down the pole. The sounds of running up the stairs urging him on. Stan quickly followed, grabbing his coat on the way out.

When they both were down on the ground, they got their bearings and ran to the car, which was parked next to the house. Kyle ducked so the car hid him from view and Stan followed. They could make out the rabbi at the front door of the house. So, Sheila must have been the one going up the stairs. Kyle opened the car door and placed the bag and guitar inside carefully. He then slid inside into the passenger's seat and ducked down. The rabbi went inside after hearing a scream from the second floor. Kyle's mom must have un-doubtfully noticed the almost bare but messy room and the open window and put two-and-two together.

Kyle breathed a sigh of relief as Stan joined him in the car. Stan reached into his coat pocket and got out the car keys. They closed the doors quietly and Stan started the car. Kyle's mom and the rabbi both could be seen in the front window looking out. Kyle smiled as Stan pulled out and got onto the road.

On the way to the airport, Kyle thought about his actions. "You know, I'm so confused by all this stuff right now."

"What stuff exactly?" Stan asked, "You gotta be more specific, especially since we're on the run and stuff could mean a _lot_ of things."

"Well…About being gay. I'm Jewish, Stan, I'm not supposed to be gay of all things…"

Stan licked his lips, "Maybe this is God's way of giving you a message?" he guessed.

"And what kind of message would that be?" Kyle asked doubtfully.

"To follow your heart for once instead of blindly listening to what your mother and father tell you is right and wrong." Stan replied after a pause. Kyle blinked and looked out the car window, wondering about what Stan just said.

* * *

Once at the airport, the boys got out of the car. Kyle laughed at his friend's state of dress. "You know that you're still in your PJs, right?"

"I think I look damn fine in them!" Stan argued with a smirk on his lips.

They entered the airport and scanned the area. Once they found the desk, Kyle straightened out the ticket. "Here goes nothing," he said. He walked up to the woman behind the counter, "Uh, do you do ticket exchanges here?"

The woman shrugged indifferently, "Depends, I guess."

Kyle could just tell how much the woman _loved_ her job, "How about this ticket," he began, giving her the ticket, "For a ticket on the next flight out of here?"

The woman studied the ticket then typed something on her computer. "'Kay, looks like you're in luck today. The next flight out is only a $100 difference."

"Where to and when does it go out?" Stan interrupted.

She studied his outfit for a moment before shrugging, "Paris and in ten minutes."

Kyle bit his lip as Stan smiled, "You have your passport, right?"

Kyle nodded, "It was given to me with the ticket." When Stan gave him a questioning look he added, "When I went to visit Ike in Canada during fall break I was required to have one. We still had it, and they handed it to me with the ticket."

Stan smiled, "It's like it was meant to be." Kyle handed the woman the required amount of money and took the ticket from her.

"Eight minutes," she reminded.

Kyle nodded before pulling Stan with him to the flight doors that were stated on the ticket. "I can't believe I'm about to leave and go to Paris!"

"I know right? Just remember to send me a postcard, oh and call me!" Stan said excitedly. "Oh," Stan added, "Don't forget to exchange you American money for the French money!"

"Euros?" Kyle questioned jokingly.

"Yeah, those!" Stan replied.

Kyle smiled at him as he handed his ticket and passport to the guard. He gave away his luggage, including his guitar, to the required person. As they checked his stuff, he hugged Stan, "Thanks so much Stan, for everything, you don't even know how much I love you for this!"

"Don't be thanking me yet! You have to learn French, and fast!" Stan said.

Kyle was going to remind him that having a brother that went to college in Canada, where some speak French, had it's perks, when the intercom came on for a last-minute warning for passengers on his flight number. He and Stan said their final goodbyes as he quickly made his way to the flight, dealing with the guards and luggage holders along the way. When he finally got onto the plane, he handed his ticket (which the guard had given back, along with his passport) to the flight attendant. She directed him to his seat and he gratefully made his way to it. Only when he sat down and the flight attendant began to give a safety speech, did it all finally hit him.

He was going to Paris!

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:
> 
> 1) In the Jewish religion, rocks are placed in front of graves instead of flowers. "God is stronger than death and his love is unending, so placing a stone on a grave is symbolic of God's infinite strength, love and memory."
> 
> 2) Jewish religion requires prompt burial. After the burial, they have what is called "shiva." Shiva (or seven) is a period where the family stays home and mourns. Condolences are made during this time. Rules are strict for what happens during this period. Mirrors are covered, no leather shoes may be worn, no shaving/cutting hair, and no pleasure is allowed during this time to show grievance for a person that is no longer able to do or look at these things.
> 
> 3) A Bar Mitzvah is hosted when a person in Judaism turns thirteen years of age. It is hosted to symbolize a boy turning into a man. (A girl also has a "party" for her coming of age at thirteen: a Bat Mitzvah.) 
> 
> If any reference is wrong, missing information, etc. please contact me via comment or message and I will correct. Thank you!


	3. Suitcases and Other Mysteries

Kyle supposed he should be thankful that he wasn't afraid of flying. Otherwise, his first flight alone overseas would have been terrible. He had flown before. Twice to Canada, once to Peru (maybe twice now that he thought about it), twice to Marlark (though that one was on a spacecraft), once to Imaginationland (if that counted, it was on a flying ship though), another time out of Imaginationland (this time going out of the place on a dragon)… the list went on and on. As a child he'd always gotten mixed up in something big happening in the town, and, most of those times, travel had been a must. He smiled when he thought about the time the CIA had taken him and Stan to the Pentagon. They had been so freaked out once they were in the aircraft that they hadn't taken the chance to really look out the windows at the ground below.

His favorite part of flying was the ground part. Where he watched the people get smaller and smaller until they were like tiny dots. Many people that had flown before always said that the people looked like ants when they were far away, but not Kyle. Ants were tiny, yes, but you could still make out from a distance that they were ants. But when you were flying away from the earth, you didn't see ants, you saw dots.

Seeing the dots made him think about how small he was in the crowd of people. He was only one of billions out in the world. Growing up in a small town, it was a hard concept to grasp. He felt as if he didn't know but one percent of the entire population on their planet.

He didn't matter to most of the people in the world, and they didn't matter to him. But sometimes the thought was depressing to him. His death would only really; truly effect Stan, Kenny, Ike, and…No, that would be all nowadays. His mother would care that her son died, but she would only be able to care about the fact that her son had died in sin. He wouldn't be accepted into the family's graveyard. (1) He knew that for a fact. Not unless he renounced his "sinful" ways. He sighed, he didn't think he could do it. Looking back at all the rules that he'd followed in his life, he realized that he'd never really had a life while following the rules.

Rules from the Torah, rules from his parents, rules from his teachers, rules from his country, rules from his state… The list went on. He was always a stickler on rules, but lately he found them constricting. Call it teenage rebellion, but he wanted to stop abiding certain rules. After all, you only got to live once, right?

Though in the back of his mind he knew he wasn't going to abide by these thoughts, he would always keep to traditions and rules because he had to. They were the only things he knew. That never changed. They were his support, something he could count on staying the same no matter what else happened.

 

* * *

Kyle pushed through the massive crowd at the airport. He'd never been around so many people before in his life. When he finally arrived at the baggage claim, he sighed in relief. Kyle found his bag and guitar amongst the many suitcases after only a moment of scanning. He sighed in relief.

He stood for a moment, wondering what he was going to do next. He was exhausted mentally, but he still had to get his American money exchanged and find a place to stay at for the night. He looked around and saw a sign hanging from the ceiling that told him where the money exchange was. He began his tread toward the exchange.

On his way, he started to think back to his lessons on French. Ike had been the one teaching him, so he had been skeptical about whether the younger boy had taught him the correct phrases. What kind of world was it when you couldn't trust your own brother?

When Kyle finally did make it into the line of people at the booth, he got out his money and counted. Stan hadn't been joking the times he mentioned how much he tried to save from his allowance and odd-and-end jobs everywhere. A pang of guilt hit him then, when he counted over a thousand. Stan had given him so much. Money, clothes…the list went on. He wished he could make up the amount of charity before the year was out.

That thought set him back on track. He would be on an entirely new continent…for who knows how long… He forced himself to breathe, a pressure on his chest built from there. Threatening his being. He was in France. With only simple French phrases known. He prayed he would catch on to the language as quickly as he did Pig Latin and Marlark. He didn't want to look like an idiotic tourist for too long… When it was his turn to exchange, the weight on his chest expanded, but some relief flooded when the woman at the desk explained the cost of exchanging in English.

Pockets full of euros and a few dollars, he decided to get out of the crowded airport and see the city he would be living in for who knew how long. When he stepped outside he had to pause and take a moment to breathe. Paris was HUGE. In every sense of the word. People were everywhere, some with small dogs on leashes. Everyone seemed to have something to do, or someplace to be. He'd thought Canada was bad on people, but it paled in comparison to this country.

Seeing the many taxis lined up in front of the airport, he made his way toward the one closest, praying they spoke English or slow French. When he got in, the driver looked back and asked if he spoke any French, in French. He thought on his reply and chose to say "a little" in response. He asked to be taken to the nearest hotel, and the man began to drive. He didn't know which hotel he was going to, but at the moment it didn't matter. It's not like he knew hotels in France anyway, knowing the name meant nothing.

When the taxi stopped, he gave the man the specified amount of money and got out with his luggage. The hotel wasn't super nice or super bad, just okay-looking. Your usual airport-hotel. He quickly got a room and told the bellhop he didn't need any help. Not really true as he didn't know where exactly his room was, but he didn't want to use Stan's money to tip someone to take his luggage. It seemed inconsiderate to him.

His room was nice, but lacked many items a normal hotel in America would have. In comparison to France, America had many useless items. Though, an alarm would be nice. He hoped he could find a watch with one in the bag.

 

* * *

Kyle spent the rest of the day unpacking the needed items. Shuffling through Stan's stuff made him feel a bit freaked out, but he knew he had to put the belongings to use somehow. Stan packed them all for a reason, and not using them would be both stupid and rude of him for multiple reasons. When he set himself up completely, he decided to sleep. After staying up for so long, he was surprised he hadn't passed out already.

 

* * *

The next few days were the most confusing Kyle had ever had. Ends up, most of the younger of the people in France knew English. Some better than others, but the fact remained that talking in English here wouldn't go too misunderstood. Though, it was looked down upon for some. He tried not to talk too much either way. He had to figure out his plans before that. He needed to get a job, and soon. But, looking around, he noticed that there were people on the streets using their talents to get by. With a cup beside them and many tourists' money, they had a collection growing each day.

Kyle thought briefly whether he should use his guitar, but knew he would have some competition around him. He wondered if he could get over his embarrassment at playing the instrument first, and the language barrier second. He had already gotten over his fear of having his mother following him here. There were too many people she would have to go through to find him. He himself was confused as to where he was half the time. Time seemed to move too fast in the city. He still hadn't gotten used to the differences in France to his life at home in America. It was all too much.

He asked himself sometimes whether he should fly somewhere else, but he knew he couldn't. He didn't want to be remotely close to America and all it symbolized to him, and he only knew English and French. London was out of the question, he hated that place.

Kyle walked to the café down the street from the hotel, for once his guitar was with him. He decided to try his luck today. He needed to build up his own money, both to pay back Stan and to live off of. He despised using everything Stan sent him, and the money was the icing on the cake.

He chose a table outside and told the waiter his choice. He saw people going by with determined looks upon their faces. One in particular caught his eye. The man was tall, with brown hair and a familiar look about him. In one hand was a suitcase, the other a cell phone against his ear. He spoke in English to the person on the other line with a heavy French accent. Kyle only caught a few of the words, "I know zat Gregory…Who exactly iz ze professional here?"

The man stopped briefly beside Kyle's table. He sat down and placed his suitcase beside him. A waiter came over to take his order only to be brushed off with a wave of the brunette's hand. "I know, I know…" the man stated. After a pause, he hung up his phone with a huff and got up from the table, leaving his suitcase behind. Kyle noticed this and grabbed it from the ground, hoping to hand it to the forgetful man, but when he looked around after grabbing the case, the man was nowhere to be seen. Sighing, Kyle ran a hand through his hair and asked a waiter if he knew where the man who just left was. With a shrug and a raised eyebrow, the man told him that he had no clue.

_Should I take this with me? He might notice it was gone and come back for it later…_ He tugged on a lock of his hair in frustration, _curse my politeness._

For the next two hours, Kyle waited to see if the man came back while he ate. He had no idea why he waited, the man shouldn't have forgotten the object if it was that important to him. He asked himself whether he should look inside the case, to see if it had an ID on it, but restrained himself from doing so. He felt it was an invasion of privacy.

 

* * *

After waiting for thirty more minutes, Kyle got up from his table and gave the waiter the money for the food and tip. He had found out on his first time at a restaurant that tipping was a must in this country. To not do so was an insult, no matter which restaurant you were in. Apparently, waiters weren't just jobs given to anyone here, like in the states, but a career given to graduates with a degree in the career field. He kind of liked it better that way though, because he didn't have to worry about really rude people serving him. He also learned that eating could take up to four hours depending on the situation, so no rush was made to get you in and out of the place. He really liked that since shoving food down his throat wasn't exactly fun. Here he got to eat slowly and enjoy the food, although he tried to only eat kosher. Sometimes he had to settle with items that weren't kosher, but weren't too against his religion.

He glanced at the suitcase beside him, asking himself whether he should take it with him or not. He breathed out, taking the suitcase after a few moments of deliberation. He might see the man again while he played. He chose a place nearby the café, just in case the man came back to look for his belonging.

Many tourists happened by the spot during the day, which was what he was counting on. He took the guitar out of his case and sat down cross-legged, with the instrument across his lap. Tuning quietly for a minute, he breathed, trying to build up strength enough to do this.

He remembered Kenny telling him a story about how he had sang in the streets to get money enough to get to Europe for singing lessons there. He hoped playing the guitar would be worth something to these people, as he didn't think he could sing today with his nerves so out-of-place. He began his song. Getting lost in the music and not thinking about the fact that he was over a thousand miles away from everything he knew and loved. Forgot about how much he missed Stan, Kenny, Ike…Hell, even Cartman ripping on him. For the familiarity, he loved so much.

He missed his family more than anything. The family he had had before his choice in his love life came out. He had tried desperately before telling anyone to pray for it to be gone. Prayed that it was a phase, that hormones were tricking him because he never dated enough women in his life. But he never got a sign, no answer came. Just like always. Just like when he prayed he could make his parents happy with him. Like how he strived to become everything they wanted him to be. Nothing was ever enough for them. Nothing would ever be good enough to pass. Always pushing him to the limit. Straight A's wasn't good enough, they had to be straight hundreds all the way. Every grade below perfect caused him mental breakdowns, the knowledge of his parents' not recognizing that he tried leading him to desperation to study more. To stress to the point of hating life. With multiple clubs and basketball taking up his time after school, he was forced to sleep two to three hours a night, sometimes even less. He opted against hanging out with his friends ninety-percent of the time, telling himself he would make it up to them after school was over and summer came.

Kyle emptily half-smiled, he was so naïve. He would never be good enough for his parents. Strumming the guitar harshly, he continued to play out his feelings. The thoughts spurring him on. He played out his loneliness, his desperation, his depression… And when it was nearing ten at night, he finally stopped, wondering where the time went. He looked at his case and his eyes widened, it was half-filled.

 

* * *

Kyle continued to play near the café, telling himself that maybe the man would come back sooner or later, but never seeing him. He carried the suitcase with him each time, placing it behind him and leaning against it so no one stole it. He had yet to sing, but he knew he would get out more stress if he did. The thought of it though scared him. He rarely sang for anyone. The reason wasn't because of his voice, though deep inside of himself he knew it was part of the reason, it was because of the personal part of his songs. They told too much about him. He didn't want to let strangers hear his emotions, it was too much for him. He couldn't help thinking about the money he would possibly earn from singing though. The playing-only didn't help much with competition.

Ever since the other musicians saw how much money he earned, they came over to play near him. Not too close, so their music could be heard clearly, but close enough for the tourists to give them a second glance. Kyle needed to step-up if he wished to own an apartment sometime soon. He would need so much for it, and all he needed costs money.

 

* * *

Kyle finished playing for the night when he felt like someone was watching him. Normally, he would ignore the feeling, someone was always looking at someone. There were too many people to catch whom was looking at whom, but this time he felt the need to look. He stood up to get a better look, but stopped suddenly when the cold metal of a cylinder was pressed into his side. He recognized the shape as a gun. His eyes widened and his breath stopped. His body felt numb when he heard a voice whisper into his ear.

"Move slowly forward, don't act suspicious. Take your guitar wiz you but leave ze case." a familiar voice stated. Kyle placed the voice easily as the one of the man that had left the suitcase at the café. He wanted to explain to the man that he hadn't stolen the case, that he planned on giving it back to the man, but his voice wouldn't come out. He felt his body move down a bit to get his already-closed case and move forward of its own accord. He felt like he was watching himself move.

The man moved behind him as he moved, keeping the gun pressed to the thin cloth of his shirt as a reminder of the threat. He heard the Frenchman pick up the suitcase. "Why did Theo want you to stay 'ere wiz ze case?" the man asked himself in a mumbled voice. "He normally kills ze men after ze delivery."

Kyle stilled when he heard the word "kill," wondering if this familiar man would do so to him. Inside, he felt as if the whole thing was a joke. If he didn't know any better he would say that Kenny had hired someone to scare him. But, he did know better. Even if Kenny had the means and want to prank him from across the seas, he certainly wouldn't take it this far.

The man urged him to keep walking forward. He did so and asked himself once again how he always got himself into these situations. From the time he was a child, he seemed to fall into traps or conspiracies, this just topped it all…except for the FBI one… that one still made him shiver thinking about how close of a call it was.

Yet, he knew every time he got himself into this, he had his friends with him. Either literally beside him, or coming to help him like he would them. This time he was alone. Stan wasn't there cursing under his breath, Kenny wasn't dying, and Cartman wasn't urging the man on. It was just him.

Only when the duo entered an alleyway far from the public did Kyle begin to look at his surroundings. Nothing but one wall that he was pressed against and a trashcan stood in the alley. No people were to be seen from the back part they were at, and the darkness only added to the scariness of the situation. Finally, the gun was taken off of his shirt, and the man told him to turn so they could talk one-on-one.

Kyle obeyed, looking at the Frenchman who's face was mostly covered by the dark. "Do you work for Theo?" the man asked, pointing the gun straight at Kyle's chest.

Kyle couldn't speak, instead opting to shake his head. The Frenchman growled lowly. "Zen who?"

Kyle shook his head, not trusting himself to speak yet. The man clicked the gun so it was ready to fire, "I asked you a question, who?"

Kyle closed his eyes tightly and said shakily, "N-no one!"

_The next sound was a gunshot, echoing throughout the alleyway._


	4. Wounded

Kyle winced, his entire body going into a state of shock as time slowed around him, guitar slipping from his hands with a thunking sound. He waited for the mind-blowing pain. He prayed, knowing already his prayers held no answers anymore. He imagined any second now he'd go into a new type of shock. He heard his science teacher talking in his ear, voice echoing through his head. _"…experience nausea, weakness, rapid breathing…"_ His eyes closed tighter, not knowing when he'd closed them.

None of the symptoms came. No bullet pierced his skin. His body strangely numb, all nerves seeming to stop working at once. Time fast-forwarded back to normal. His body felt relief and disappointment alike. A groan broke his thought process.

He opened his eyes slowly, vision blurred from the tightness they were closed before. He saw a blurry figure in front of him holding a bloody hand. His mind going into overdrive, he looked beyond that, figures stood at the edge of the alleyway, a black bulky object behind them. His eyes adjusted quickly, the blurriness receding and allowing a sight he'd never be likely to forget into fruition.

"Holy shit," he breathed, not knowing he had spoken at all until his ears tuned into his voice.

Four men stood outside a sleek black vehicle that blocked the area from outsiders' view. They wore suits, their faces frowning indifferently at him. They looked as if they had walked out of a mafia movie, _The Godfather_ briefly came to mind. He noted that the one closest-most likely leading the pack- held a gun pointed in his direction but not directly at him.

Eyes widened in realization, following the gun barrel's point of view down to the person almost directly in front of him. The Frenchman was standing there, body turned towards the men. The hand that had had the gun just moments before was clutched in his other hand, blood streaming down from the wound, dripping down in droplets. The redhead couldn't see the wound directly, only the hard red edges of it. He didn't think he would want to though.

His breaths became faster, close to hyperventilating. He wished once more for his friends' presence there. "You fucking bastards!" The Frenchman's curse had Kyle pulling from his thoughts to the present yet again. Now wasn't the time to think, he had to find a way out of there, and soon.

The man in the lead took a step closer, looking toward the man in front of Kyle. The redhead had no real way of knowing exactly where the man was looking as sunglasses covered his eyes. Maybe it was to look more intimidating… It worked on him.

He imagined Stan would have already stepped out and tried to dissolve the situation. That Kenny would have found himself distracting the men whilst the other three got away. He even thought briefly of Cartman's badgering, the brown haired teen talking to the men in a poor Italian voice, threatening them with people who didn't exist. But Kyle, Kyle was never really the one to diffuse the situation, typically choosing the background as his place-of-action.

He took in a deep shuddering breath as quietly as he could to try to rid himself of the hyperventilating, knowing now was neither the time nor place to do such a thing. He needed to _think._ The gun distracted him, his eyes following its every movement between the pudgy fingers of the holder.

"You think you can set up a deal and bale out on us, _Mole?"_ The man 'tsked' at the brunette, practically spitting out the name. Shaking his head in mock-sadness, the man tilted the gun at a more direct angle with the boy.

"Mole" as he was dubbed now, growled. "I didn't fucking bale out, ze case was placed zere."

He found his heart beating louder as he realized he had definitely gotten into something he shouldn't have. Why'd he have to get that stupid briefcase? He should have listened to his instincts. Now wasn't the time for "should have"s though. He looked around the alleyway slowly as the man continued, trying to find a way out without being noticed by the group, his main advantage being that he could barely be seen from their perspective, he knew as he calculated the angle in his head. His eyes landed on the gun laying on the ground, mind pausing mid-thought.

"Well…If you put the case there then I guess my boy's must have not looked hard enough. We'll trust you though." The leader replied in a condescending tone. Then, he let out a laugh, "You can't pull that fucking stuff on us. My boys aren't stupid, Mole."

"Really?" Mole asked, mimicking the condescending voice. "Could've fooled me."

Kyle looked at the walls, half-listening to the conversation. He closed his eyes shut as he tried to calculate time, nervous mind slipping up on the simplest of equations. He could only thank God he had been in these situations before as now he knew how to act. Opening his eyes, he gaged his surroundings once more. A trashcan, walls, the four complete strangers, Mole, and himself. A gun lay on the ground near him. He knew behind him was a dead-end. Nothing else was on the ground.

"You're the one talking shit when a loaded gun's pointed at your fucking skull." the leader replied angrily.

Kyle shifted his foot, making sure the men were still in the midst of their argument as he barely lifted his foot and placed it over the gun two steps away. He scooted it towards him, dragging it as slowly as possible.

"You zink, after all ze shit I've been through I'm scared of your little piece of equipment?"

_Almost there,_ the gun was directly under him now. He prayed, scared for his life. _Please, God, don't let me die like this. Not after all I've been through._ He knew God didn't owe him anything, but dammit, he kind of did.

His heart in his chest, it felt hard to breath, prickles of sweat clenched to his skin. He licked his lips.

"Shut the fuck up and tell us where the case is you fuckin-"

The man didn't have a chance to finish, surprise hitting him as a bullet hit his shoulder. Kyle praised the small victory, even if he had meant to hit the guy's head. The gun in the man's hand fell to the ground in surprise as the rest of his crew pulled out their own. He ran, sliding to the trashcan and using it as a shield, back hitting cool metal.

Vaguely aware of a person next to him, he peeked to the opposite side just over the edge of the object. He quickly pulled himself back around just in case as he angled the gun the best he could with what he had seen from the glance, closing one eye to line it up. He took a deep breath, pushed himself out, and shot. He hit the man closest to the exit's neck. He pushed himself, adrenaline leading him out. The car was pressed against the alley itself, leaving no true exit unless one went over the car.

He scrambled onto the car, sliding off the hood then falling over as a bullet shot through his hip. He clutched the place as wetness that could only be blood leaked through his clothes, and forced himself into an upright position once more. He ran again, glancing back once more. The men were being yelled at by their leader now, he heard the word "Mole."

He kept running.

He heard steps behind him, just as a car screeched. He didn't dare glance behind, choosing instead to run through the crowds toward a café. It would be too crowded to see him there, he knew. Panting, he slowed down as the crowd thickened. His hand on the opposite side and hunched arm covered the wound, not wanting to cause a scene in case someone freaked out and gave away his position to those men. The gun found its way to his coat pocket, arm keeping it hidden as well.

He reached a wall and leaned against it, giving himself some time to recuperate. The pain still hadn't fully hit him yet, only the burning. He wiped the sweat from his eyes, the arm used for said-action grabbed immediately after by an unknown person. He tried to pull away, a whispered, "Zis way, you idiot," stopping him. He recognized the voice as Mole and nodded, showing the man he understood. He hoped Mole realized by now that he was just a random person and not a part of all of this- whatever it was. He actually wanted nothing more than to go home.

His mind was hit with images, Officer Barbrady at the door, his mother's crying, the rabbi handing him a plane ticket… He realized he was running vaguely, thankful for the hand pulling him forward knowing he would have stopped in his sudden daze otherwise.

The hand was taken from his mouth as he was led to another alleyway with a dead-end. He would forever hate these places now, his stomach turned at the view. The man's tight hold fell from his arm as Mole went deeper into the alley, placing a hand on his chest to stop him from moving when he went to follow, "Wait, 'ere."

It wasn't hard to do. Kyle rested his body on the nearest wall, the rough stone edges clinging to his jacket. He closed his eyes and hunched over, the pain in his hip having ten-folded by now. Every curse he ever knew ran through his head. He was panting, or at least trying to it seemed. He croaked each breath, having to force himself to breathe at all. _In. Out. In. Out._

Sweat pooled at the top of his forehead, trickles falling down his cheeks as he huffed. He blearily looked down at the hand on his hip, trickles of his own blood fell through the spaces between his fingers. He looked up from the wound at the sound of an engine starting. Half-lidded eyes stared down the alley, lights blearing at him from a short distance. "Shit," he cursed his luck, dodging out of the way before it could hit him. "What the fuck?" he asked no one in particular as Mole skid the motorbike to a stop in front of him.

"I wouldn't 'ave actually hit you." the brunette said with a smirk.

"Yeah, it certainly showed." Kyle muttered, trying to stop his erratic breaths.

The man's eyes glinted at the words, but why Kyle didn't know nor care at the moment. "Need a ride?" he asked, accent less heavy this time with the slowed words.

The redhead didn't even look up, "That'd be… preferable, yeah." he panted. The thought that this man was going to kill him crossed his mind briefly, but was put away as his a pang of pain made him wince.

"What'd be 'preferable' iz a car, oui?" the man asked, eyeing the place Kyle held. "How bad?"

"How the hell would I know?" he replied, "I'm not shot at everyday, you know." His voice was cracking, he knew.

The Frenchman raised an eyebrow, "Not that bad if you are still able to talk like zat." he commented. "Get on ze bike."

"Helmet?" he asked. The man stared into his eyes, he stared back, wincing when the pain shot through him like a burning thorn.

"Don't 'ave one," he replied.

Kyle sighed, not commenting on the length of time it took for the man to reply just in case he took away the offer for a ride. Though, as far as he was concerned, the man owed him. "Thanks," _I guess,_ he added in his mind. He climbed onto the back of the bike, moving as fast as he body would allow. "Those men still giving chase?"

"More zan likely, which is why we vill be switching the bike out soon. Besides, can't drive zis zing for long." Mole replied, motioning to his fabric-covered hand, blood soaking through the makeshift bandage. Kyle stared at it.

"Does it feel like this?" He gestured to the hip with his eyes. The man didn't answer, either not hearing or not caring.

Kyle left it at that, not wanting to play '20 questions' just yet when he felt like Hell itself. He took his hand off the wound, eyeing the crimson substance covering it with minor disgust and a hint of curiosity. He was dazed. He put his arms around the stranger's middle, too out-of-it to think anything of the position. His hold tightened as the obviously reckless-driver pulled out of the alley and into the city.

Kyle pressed his face to the man's back, feeling suddenly feverish. Luckily, the man unconsciously, or even consciously for all Kyle knew, had shifted the side, allowing the redhead to place his forehead on the shoulder offered and shift his hips so the wounded side was kept more hidden from the wind. The aching pain he felt in his hip converted to throbbing as they rode.

He took deep breaths, nausea settling inside his stomach. He closed his eyes tightly, telling himself over and over again to just _breathe._ It was easier said than done. He couldn't pay attention to anything in particular, mind hazing in and out in its need for reprieve after the "mafia attack" as he now dubbed it.

Finally, the deathtrap pulled into a parking building and into an empty space. Mole ran a hand through his hair, "My car should be over zere," he said.

Kyle breathed out onto the back, "Gimme a minute," he replied. Gritting his teeth, he pulled his arms off and got off the bike. He almost fell, but an arm on his own stopped him.

"We should be near base and you'll be looked at zere." the man said casually.

"And questioned?" he asked, tone clearly telling what he thought of the idea.

Mole shrugged, "Not everyday you meet a man who vill fight like zat. And you did take ze case." The man gave him a minute to adjust to standing, pulling out a cigarette from his coat pocket and lighting it. Kyle took in the bandaged hand once more, wondering why the man was able to act like it was nothing. Taking a drag, Mole began walking in the direction of the car.

The redhead rolled his eyes at both the response and the smoking, following the man as he led them to another section of the parking area. He decided against responding, he was already pushing himself to his limit by walking. The man suddenly stopped, Kyle following his lead. "Get in ze car," he said, looking over his shoulder at Kyle.

Raising an eyebrow, green eyes viewed the car gestured to, biting his lip to keep from laughing. "Porsche at home?" he managed out. The man was not so amused.

"Vould you expect me to own zis car?"

"Touché," Kyle replied, hand hitting the cool metal as he used it to walk to the passenger's seat. Mole took out his keys and clicked a button. The car unlocked. Kyle got in and buckled, immediately regretting that action, "Shit!" The seatbelt hit his side, rough fabric hitting his hip and rubbing.

The man got into the car through the driver's side, starting the car and letting it warm up. He watched the redhead with an amused look. "Does it really hurt zat bad?" Kyle glared at the man, trying to put all of the pain he felt into his eyes. The other lifted his hands in mock-surrender, "Apparently so."

They pulled out of the place, Mole looking around the lot with suspicious eyes. "If you weren't acting like such a pansy, I'd 'ave made you sit in ze back for my own protection." he smirked at Kyle.

"I got _fucking_ shot!" Kyle defended, his glare still on full-blast at the man, interrupted by a flare of pain. "Dammit, drive faster!"

The man lifted an eyebrow, opening his window to flick ashes from his cigarette out, "As you wish, monsieur, would you also like a complimentary chocolate?" Nevertheless, the man did drive a bit faster. Kyle didn't know if it was from his comment, or his constant reminder of the men trying to find them currently.

Mole watched him from the corner of his eye, "So what were you doing wiz ze case?"

"Being a good person," Kyle responded through gritted teeth.

The brunette chuckled, smoke flowing from his mouth in a stream. "A good person…" he mused aloud. "Like from ze movies, no?"

Was that an actual question or a rhetorical one? The car sped through the streets, almost hitting a few pedestrians along the way. "Exactly like the movies," he replied, watching the driving with an out-of-body feeling. He remembered watching action movies back home, the whole group watching the scenes play out with wide eyes. Well, they did anyway, he tried to do his homework, trying not to ruin the movie for the others by pointing out that the scenes simply were not possible 90% of the time. "I'm still wondering if this is real…" He thought back to the alley, brain knowing it happened- had placed it in the memory box, but didn't comprehend that it happened to _him_ and not Nicolas Cage or even Rob Schneider.

He shifted through the memories to distract himself from both the horrible driving that was causing some massive nausea and the pain shooting through him. He first saw Mole at the café, leaving a briefcase behind when he left. He had waited there, taking the case for himself when he noticed the man not coming back for it. Kyle had played a couple days by the café, earning tips and waiting for the man to show again. He hadn't until today. Mole had taken him to the alley where he had- shit, his guitar was still there. He drew in a trembling breath, great, just great. And the briefcase? Mole probably took it with him when they ran, but he didn't see it when the man had pulled him into the second alley. He didn't dare ask. He was just getting out of the "suspicious" category, and he really didn't want another gun pointed at him anytime soon. _Wait, I have the gun…_

He wanted to give it to the other, tell him it was his fucking problem and he wanted out of it completely. God, he couldn't wait to be back in the hotel, wound healed and uncaring about the past once more. But he didn't move. The gun was his only protection. He tried to remember how many bullets were used, his mind becoming hazy with blood loss. "Is it bad that I'm getting incredibly tired and dizzy right now?" he asked suddenly, not knowing where the words had come from.

The man looked at Kyle, furrowing his eyebrows before pulling the car over. He leaned over, "Take off ze jacket."

Kyle blearily did so, the man having to help him when his arms got too heavy to move fast enough. Eyes half-lidded now, the world becoming more and more blurry as the seconds passed, he watched Mole lift his shirt, the pain numbing over as he slowly fell asleep. He just remembered a word that sounded French coming out last, "Merde!"

-0-

Kyle opened his eyes slowly, a blurry room coming into view. A heavy arm lifted, carrying his shaking hand to his eyes. He rubbed them, trying to get them back to normal in the only way he knew how. Trying again, he opened his eyes, making out what looked like a small bedroom. It wasn't the friendliest of places with its dark features. Everything from the paint on the walls to the hardwood floor was dark colored, grey and black. His mind registered his lack of clothing, only boxers left to cover his pride and a long bandage wrapping around his entire waist. Blotches of red had seeped through the material where his wound lay.

He tried to lift himself into a sitting position, winced, and fell back onto the bed in surprise. "Shit!" he found himself cursing with the action, voice cracked.

Memories flooded back with the pain, the fight, the run, Mole… He groaned as if the memories physically hurt him. Throat parched he licked his lips. "Where am I?" he asked the walls. They didn't answer back. He chose to try his best to man-up and forced himself up, hand grabbing ahold of his hip with the action as if to hold in the aching nerves. Pulling his legs over the bed, bare feet touched the cool wood of the floor. Biting his lip to keep from making any noise, he drew himself into a hunched but standing position. He led himself to the end of the bed, where a small dresser stood. His bloodied clothing was there. Searching his coat's pockets, he found what he was looking for, the gun.

He slowly made his way to the door, legs feeling stiff and gun in hand limply. Posture shifted into a less-hunched position as he opened the door and peeked into the hallway. He limped down the hall, finding a living room where the end broke into a room. He turned into it, looking at the depressingly dark room, a small TV the centerpiece to which the furniture was arranged. Turning back to the hall to find another room, he instead found a gun pointing directly at his face. "Not this again…" He gritted his teeth to keep himself from saying anything else.

The man behind the gun smirked, "Did you forget ze questioning already?" Mole asked, gesturing the teen back to the room he just tried to leave. "Gun." the man ordered noticing the object and holding out a hand impatiently. Kyle weakly and reluctantly gave it to the man.

Kyle didn't bother to lift his arms in surrender, beyond caring in his hazy mind. He was led back to the bed by the barrel of the gun. "Can I at least have some water?"

The Frenchman cocked his head to the side, "After," he promised then, _"if_ you tell me ze truth."

The redhead didn't bother rolling his eyes at the words. He sat down stiffly, trying to relax the muscles in his waist in a hopeless attempt to stop the throbbing pain. "Go on," he urged, eager to get it over with as soon as possible.

The man took his time, pulling out a folded chair from a bi-fold closet. He never once took his eyes nor gun from the redhead. Settling into the seat, he stared harder.

"Well?" Kyle asked, getting slightly impatient now.

The man furrowed his eyebrows, "No zank you for treating ze wound?"

Kyle rolled his eyes now, not being able to hold back, "You owed me after accusing me and getting me involved in this in the first place as far as I'm concerned."

"You got yourself involved," Mole replied without missing a beat. "By taking ze briefcase in ze first place." He didn't give Kyle time to reply before launching into the next question, "Why'd you 'ave a gun if you are just a 'good person?'" he asked, mimicking Kyle's words from the car.

"How was I supposed to know where this place was, I only just woke. For all I knew it was those mafia guys' place." he replied.

Mole's lips upturned at that, a newly-bandaged hand taking a cigarette from his pocket. He lit it and took a drag, eyes staying on Kyle. "Where did you get ze gun?"

Kyle raised an eyebrow, "Memory bad?" he asked. Sighing at the impassive look now on Mole's face as well as the consistent staring, he continued. "It's your gun from earlier, remember? You dropped it after you were shot and I took it."

"Where did you learn to shoot?"

The teen almost laughed at the question, "I didn't learn it, I missed where I was trying to shoot every time." Mole leaned back in his seat, gun lazily pointing at Kyle by the hand on his knee, the gun Kyle had earlier rested on his lap horizontally. Kyle watched with an uninterested look, hand trying not to squeeze his side at every pang. "Anything else?" he asked.

"You are American, oui?"

"From Colorado." he answered simply.

Mole nodded, taking a longer drag from his cigarette. "And why are you here?"

"In France?"

"Oui, why here, why now?"

Kyle shook his head, not knowing how to answer without a life story, "It's a long story," he supplied. "I'd rather not say."

"You realize a gun iz pointed at you do you not?"

_"You're the one talking shit when a loaded gun's pointed at your fucking skull."_ Shaking his head from the sudden flashback, he found brown eyes staring into his own. "I do, but that doesn't mean I suddenly want to tell you every last detail of my life." A pause, then he sighed, "Can we just leave it at my having a sudden change of heart last-minute and changing my flight from one place to here?"

Mole inhaled the smoke once more, exhaling a stream toward the ceiling, eyes still focused on the only other human being in the room. "Where were you supposed to go?"

Kyle glared at the continuation of the, at least from his side, seemingly useless questions. "Canada."

Mole smiled then, not bothering to hide it after, "Don't blame you zen."

"Water?" he asked after a moment's silence.

The Frenchman stared, putting out the cigarette on the chair handle. Then, finally, "Okay."

He found himself sighing in relief as the man lifted himself from the seat and left the room, one gun in his pocket, the other in his hand. When he came back, he had a bottle of water in his hands. Throwing it to Kyle, he leaned against the frame of the open door with crossed arms.

The redhead caught the bottle and opened it, making himself take slow sips of the drink as to not unsettle his already-nauseated stomach. "So, what now?" he asked.

Mole shrugged, "We vill have to stay here for now, Tony's men are still scouring the area and now they have zese damn dogs with them." His accent went in and out in its harshness, Kyle noticed. He didn't say anything, wondering if it was emotions that controlled it. "We vill wait here until told otherwise."

He made to leave the room, pausing at Kyle's voice, "Whose orders are we waiting for?"

The Frenchman smiled, "A Brit's," he answered, leaving it at that and turning out of the room. His footsteps faded as the distance between them furthered.

Kyle held the water bottle to his forehead, the coolness of the leftover water inside helping him cool down. He wondered what to do now, the room didn't have much and he wasn't sure if he was supposed to stay there or not. He wanted more answers, but from the way the man just left him here, he assumed he wasn't going to get any whether he asked or not. "Dammit, why do these things always happen?" he asked the walls. They didn't answer this time either.

He wondered what the others were doing right now. Were they even searching for him? Would him mother call the police on him still, after giving up her last-ditch effort of making him normal in her eyes? He closed his eyes as the emotions hit. He didn't want them, didn't need the constant pangs of guilt and rejection to remind him of what a failure he had been.

He imagined Stan told Kenny and Cartman where he had gone, but had left it at that. The boy knew not to give away too much information when it counted. He wondered if they were still hanging out, or if Kenny had quit school like he had been threatening to do since day one. He found himself slipping asleep again, his body physically and mentally beaten. This year had to be the worse of his life, he didn't hold out hope on it getting any better. He prayed for his friends before he let his body lay down, not bothering to shift into a more comfortable position before he fell into a deep sleep.


	5. The Way Out

The next time Kyle woke it was to the smell of freshly-made food. He wearily rolled on the bed, wondering briefly if his mom was about to call him down for breakfast. _She's not coming…_ he thought, memories catching up as he opened his eyes. He rolled to the other side, igniting a fiery pain in his hip. "Ow!" he said automatically, body shooting up into a sitting position. It did nothing to lessen the aches.

He groaned, biting his lip to keep from shouting out in agony. Just then, a man entered the room. "I forgot ze medicine, I see," he said casually.

Kyle glared at him, wondering when he had been given medicine before, but then feeling quite stupid. Of course he had to have been given medicine while he was passed out before, otherwise the pain would've been much _much_ worse he was sure. Speaking of which, "Aren't you going to go get it?" he asked, angry at Mole for standing there, smoking as per usual.

"I see your temper is still intact," he said, smoke flowing from his mouth, "come, I made breakfast."

Kyle watched the man leave the room, feeling the urge to cough but not daring to do so in case his wound was jostled. He cursed the smoke in the room. It hit him that he was moved as he slept as his body was now covered in a blanket and in the correct, vertical position. That man was getting weirder by the second. He slowly got out of the bed, leaning on the nearest wall as he walked toward the smell of food. His stomach turned when he made it to the kitchen. He was starving, but the sight of food had him wanting to vomit.

The kitchen was the lightest place in the house, tiles green instead of gray and black. He thought it odd, but said nothing as he made his way to the dining table. Two plates filled with bread, fruit, and oatmeal sat on the table. He assumed the one with two pills beside it was his, he sat in the seat in front of it. He winced as his side tensed at the action.

The man brought two glasses filled with water with him as he took the spot at the other end of the table, laying a glass in front of Kyle's plate before he sat. The redhead stared for a moment, "You made this?"

Mole put out his cigarette on the table, leaving it there as he began to eat. "And?"

"Just find it odd," _and kind of funny,_ he added to himself. He took the pills, drinking the water as he downed them before he began eating. He forced tiny, slow bites into his mouth, mechanically chewing. Swallowing was made uncomfortable by the sick feeling it gave him in his stomach each time. "So, what happened the other day," he asked.

"You were there."

"You know what I meant, after I passed out." he elaborated.

The brunette took a minute at this, leaning back in his chair, "What is there to tell?"

At least by his words Kyle could tell how emotions did have a direct effect on the man's accent. He had one, for sure, but it wasn't nearly as heavy now. He filed this information away for later, just in case he ever needed it.

"Well, what happened to me? How bad was the wound?" After a moment's pause, "And how long was I out for, for that matter?"

The man stared at him, apparently in thought. "Not many ask so many questions at once, definitely not when the man they ask them to has given them no real reason to trust him."

_Is he serious?_ "Are you serious?" he found himself voicing, "You dressed the wound, gave me medicine, gave me a room, fed me breakfast and are asking how you're trusted enough to ask questions to? I assure you, if you wanted me dead you'd be doing a horrible job of it." Unless, of course, he wanted to play around with him beforehand, but he left this part out of his short speech. He wasn't about to give the man something to go off of if he couldn't think of that himself, he wanted to win the argument after all. Sighing, he leaned back as well, playing with his food as his stomach settled what he had in it.

"You went into a state of shock. The bullet hadn't gone all of the way through, so I took it out, stitched the spot, cleaned, and bandaged it. You were out for an entire day after. Then you went back to sleep before I could bring food."

_So that's what he was doing…_ "See, no reason to distrust, yet." _Besides our meeting._ He thought on the information he just learned, wondering why the man trusted him enough to do all of this for him. He wanted to ask, but felt it wasn't his place to, not yet anyway. Not when they were still awkward about the entire situation.

There was silence for a few minutes, only broken by the sound of silverware on dishes. Finally, Kyle had to ask, "When will I get to go home?"

Mole actually laughed, "Monsieur, do you have any idea what kind of trouble you're in right now?"

Kyle found himself glaring again, "I don't want any part of it. Besides, it's not like they know where I'm living right now." He paused, "Do they?" he added uncertainly.

The brunette shook his head, "They vill soon if they do not already. He's got men everywhere, zat is why zis entire operation is important. Vell, was." The accent was heavy again, was he was mad, upset? Kyle took in the words, his heartbeat quickening with the implications.

Kyle gritted his teeth, "All because of a missing suitcase? Are you serious?"

Mole nodded, lighting up yet another cigarette. "'Fraid so, you are stuck wiz me for now."

Kyle dropped his spoon, a resounding clang echoed through the kitchen. "What?" He left everything at the hotel… "Dammit!"

Mole just did his usual staring and smoking, lips now frowning. "Do you have family here?"

Kyle shook his head, no, "I didn't bring anyone but me…but, all my stuff…"

Mole shrugged, "You still 'ave your guitar, oui?"

"No, I left it in the alley," Kyle replied, the man was definitely not helping his spirits right now.

"Zen Gregory vill have the guitar."

"Wait, what?" He was very confused right now, he looked at Mole with wide eyes. "Who's Gregory and why will he have my guitar?"

"Just what I said. Don't think I chose that particular alley for no reason. Gregory will know what to do and where to go to get it."

"But what about those men, won't they search there? And what about the guitar case?"

"They are idiots, I don't know how they became so high in ze ranks… They might search the alley, but they won't even zink about it for a couple more days. And I told Gregory everything that happened, I'm sure he took pity. He's always been one for zat kind of zing."

Kyle wanted to tell him that he obviously thought the same with his helping someone he didn't even know, but didn't. Last thing he wanted right now was to be kicked out or something. "I'll take your word for it." He thought to his songs, praying they'll be recovered. He really didn't like the thought of someone stealing them and using them as their own. Not that he thought they were amazing or anything, but they were _his_ and it was all he really had left that was truly _his_ from a time before all this trouble started.

"What am I expected to do all day?" he asked, trying to cool down his temper for now.

Mole took a drag of his new cigarette, contemplating. "Don't really care as long as you don't mess up anything. Oh, and no outside contact until Gregory reviews you and gets a background check."

Kyle gaped, "Is all that really necessary?"

Mole nodded, smoke coming out of his nostrils this time as he breathed out, "Why, would you rather I watch you like a child?"

"I meant the background check and no contact thing, but thanks for the vote of confidence." He got up from the table, cursing at the throb coming from the wound. "Dammit, how much longer is it going to do that?"

"I'd say you have another week for it to seal, two for the ache to go away completely. Be thankful it didn't hit a vital organ and go on." Mole said absent-mindedly, eyes watching Kyle still.

The redhead rolled his eyes, "I'm sure when you got shot for the first time you were an absolute _joy_ to be around." he retorted, leaving the room.

"Put on some clothes, they are in ze closet. I assume you know where it is." He heard Mole say, voice just louder than usual.

He could feel those eyes on him the entire time as he raised a hand to acknowledge the words, refusing to look back as he felt his face heat with the reminder. It was creepy yet not. He had no way of describing it but didn't think he wanted to anyway. It was just weird. Keeping it at that, he went to the room he'd been staying in, sitting on the bed and practically sinking into the mattress. He already felt tired again and he didn't even do anything, but on the other hand he really wanted a shower…

But he didn't know where the kit for cleaning and bandaging the wound was and the bed was so warm and fluffy… The need for the toilet made the decision for him. He wondered how his body survived whilst it was out, did the man feed him through a tube or something? Maybe his body's low blood levels had made his systems shut down? He shook his head, forcing himself from the bed and going to the hall. His breaths were harsh already, having already been pushed passed exertion already.

He didn't have to go far before he found a room pretty close to the bedroom, its door closed. He knocked, a manner pushed into him by his mother years ago, when she cared about his mannerisms. He pushed away the thoughts, refusing to get anymore depressed than he felt already. He was involved in some kind of conspiracy or something; as far as he was concerned, he had enough to worry about.

The bathroom had no answer and he went inside, finding it empty, though green tiles meeting him. Wondering what Mole was doing right now, he closed the door. After relieving himself and washing his hands, he stared at his reflection in the mirror. He looked like he had went through Hell and back. Felt like it too.

He took a washcloth and poured hot water onto it, wiping his face of any sweat. Feeling it was necessary, he used the liquid hand soap. He looked at the shower, wondering if he could get away with washing his hair. He knew French people didn't waste as much water as Americans did, and wondered if Mole would mind. Deciding it was part of what the man owed to him for putting him in this mess in the first place, he went ahead and washed his hair.

After drying, he felt better than before, more content with life. Though, he could still feel some anger. Who wouldn't be? He put the used washcloths into the wastebasket and left. His side stung considerably now, his mind hazed from tiredness. He looked at the bed with sad eyes then the closet. Mind made up, he went opened the bi-fold door and looked through the pants and shirts he found there. Finding a pair of loose sweatpants and a large t-shirt, he flopped onto the bed in the correct position this time and fell asleep almost instantly.

-0-

He found himself waking with only a dull throbbing in his side. He wondered what kind of medicine he took. Glad he didn't take awhile to remember where he was this time, he pulled himself up. Thanks to the lack-of-windows and clock, he didn't know what time of day it was.

He got up and left the room with less stumbling this time. He heard noises coming from what he assumed to be a television. Looking into the living room, he saw Mole sitting on the couch comfortably, a leg on the coffee table in front of him. In his hands was a controller. Kyle inched into the room, the television screen coming into view.

"Is that Skyrim?" he asked, amusement filling his voice.

Mole didn't even look up, his player killing a giant, "Oui," he said simply. Kyle didn't know whether to laugh or join. He settled on both, the brunette paused and looked back at him as he sat on the couch. "I used to play Skyrim…"

"Don't you dare say 'but then I took-'"

"An arrow to the knee." Kyle interrupted with a smile.

The other picked up a lit cigarette from where it rested on the edge, uncaring. "What is vith people and zat line?" he un-paused the game, placing the cigarette in his mouth.

"It's weird, random, and fucking hilarious, what is there _not_ to like about it?" Kyle replied.

Mole made a sound in the back of his throat in response as his character entered a cave. Kyle continued to watch with amused eyes until Mole sighed and paused the game again. "Want to play a game?" he asked, guessing Kyle's motive already.

"Do you even have to ask?"

The brunette got up from the couch and moved to the Xbox. "Battlefield or Call of Duty?"

Kyle smiled, "I'm a My Little Pony man myself."

Mole's lips upturned slowly, as if reluctant. "Call of Duty it is." he replied, choosing not to comment Kyle's last sentence.

Extremely thankful for the reprieve of tense; awkward conversations and thought process in general, he watched the familiar game. He knew, somewhere deep inside of him, that holding back his emotions so much was going to make him go off soon. But he ignored it. He couldn't stand thinking, he didn't want to before the plane ride and he sure as hell didn't want to now. Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair. "Multiplayer or compaign?" he asked after the disk was put into the console.

"No internet, so campaign mode."

"No internet?"

Mole slumped back into his seat uncaringly, "Can't be found so easily as through an IP address. We're lucky to have running electricity and plumbing as it is."

Kyle nodded, "I guess it helps in the 'no contact' area."

Mole didn't say anything, just sat his cigarette on the table. The game started on the screen.

"So, is Mole your name? Like your real name?" Kyle asked suddenly.

The man sighed, "I don't like names much," he said simply. "Just go wiz ze title, Kyle."

Kyle glared, his name triggering his mind's awareness to a new level. "Wait, how do you know my name? I don't remember telling you it…"

Mole smiled widely, if Kyle didn't know any better he'd think it was a proud one, as it was he believed it was taunting him. "I have my ways."

Kyle thought about that for a moment, eyes widening as he remembered the feeling of eyes on him the entire time he played by the café. He had told himself then that it was the people, that there were so many it was almost impossible not to be looked at by someone at any given time. "You were following me." he accused, head snapping to look at the Frenchman.

His smile had widened even more before the man seemed to pull himself together. "You made it too easy." he replied.

Kyle glared, not saying anything back. He felt strangely exposed for some reason. He watched the game with a hazy mind before he felt a controller being placed onto his hands. "Play, I'll make dinner."

He had slept all day? With this new information, he began to do just as Mole said. He didn't bother acknowledging the man as he left, feeling a bit angry still with him. He felt justified in his anger though, stupid briefcase… He wondered what was in it… _None of my business._ He settled with that.

They ate in the living room, switching out the controller every once in a while. "You're worse at games then I'd have thought you'd be." Kyle commented, watching as Mole was killed by a man behind him.

"Shit!" the man responded to the game, then he put down the controller with a sigh. "It's not like real-life at all."

"Whatever makes you feel better."

Mole saved the game and turned it off, "That was interesting." he said.

"More on my side, I'm sure." Kyle replied.

A pause then, "Do you always act so forward?" Mole asked, putting out his almost-gone cigarette on the table and sitting up.

Kyle inwardly flinched at the words. He shrugged, knowing the answer inside but not wanting to say it. Despite his argument to Mole that he could be trusted after all he did, he still felt like he couldn't be. They didn't know each other, not really anyway. Besides the fight and being in the same place at the same time for a few days now, they had nothing to talk about. For all he knew, the Frenchman was fighting against the government or something-even though deep down inside of himself he knew it wasn't true. He trusted his instincts, yes, but occasionally he needed proof outwardly.

He wasn't right about telling his parents he was gay. He wasn't right in letting his dad leave. He wasn't right in leaving Colorado with most of Stan's belongings. He wasn't right in taking the briefcase. He wasn't in his right mind or physical state.

The reason for his temper was all of those reasons and more. His brain felt like it was about to explode with stress. He had no idea where his life had led him nor why God had chosen this path for him. He only knew everything was passing too fast too soon. Just as he felt safe, that safety was taken away from him. It was taken from him at home, and now in France, thousands of miles away. He was just so angry, his inner turmoil and outward pain morphing him into a ball of angst.

He lashed out, he knew, but not because he didn't think Mole was trying or because he was just being a bastard. It was because he had no other response to give. He didn't know how to act, didn't know what to do anymore. He felt so trapped.

-0-

The next time he woke wasn't to breakfast or the quiet sounds of the television set, but a hand on his mouth and someone's knees pressing into his back. He did the first thing he could think of, he bit down until he drew blood. The hand pulled away, a voice cursing in French. However, it wasn't Mole's voice. He threw off the person using the cover as leverage. He screamed as he did so to make sure he woke Mole if he was sleeping. He could barely make out the outline of the man on the bed moving off the object in the surrounding darkness. His eyes didn't have time to even adjust as he was stopped by another man pulling him from behind, linking his arms behind his back.

He thrashed around in the hold, shock making his wound thankfully numb for the moment. Despite knowing it would put him through Hell later, he twisted around, leg kicking as hard as it could at the most sensitive part of a man. He was thrown as the stranger fell; falling to the floor harshly. A sound pushed from his throat as he had the wind knocked out of him. He pushed himself up, feeling liquid travel down his thigh, _damn, it re-opened. The stitches must have come undone._

He ran to the door, pushing it fully open just as a figure slammed into him from behind, tackling him to the floor. "What the fuck do you even want?" he yelled out, not expecting an answer and not getting it. He used everything he could from the position. A grunt was heard as his leg collided with the man.

Then, a leg crushed his own, "Fuck!" he growled, wondering if they could be broken from that much pressure alone. _Where the fuck was Mole?_ He tried moving his arms, but they were trapped in an awkward position. The leg left out was held down by a strong hand. He had to wonder how muscly these guys were…

BANG!  
The gunshot sounded throughout the entire house. The body on top of Kyle fell limp. He felt the blood rush back into his arms just as the man on holding legs and another from down the hall both ran towards the gun, firing their own now, forgetting about Kyle momentarily. _They didn't have their guns out before…_ Now wasn't the time to think- Kyle pushed the body off of him numbly, wondering if Mole was great at seeing at night or if he was just guessing and shooting even though it was dangerous. He chose the former, even though knowing it was most likely the latter. He heard running, head pushing up from the floor to watch the figures run towards the living room.

Thanking Mole in his mind, he pushed himself up again, forcing his muscles to work past the pain. They shook with nerves as he let them fall to his sides. He heard more shots, and found himself moving towards the gunfight despite his mind screaming at him to stop and turn around now while he still could.

Stumbling along the way, he let the adrenaline do the work for him. He refused to think as he found himself ducking behind the couch to avoid getting hit. He heard a gun go off beside him and saw Mole. "Thank God," he said, hand on chest.

"What did zat bastard do? Nothing, I tell you!" the brunette declared. He continued to shoot over the couch before ducking once more. "Here, you'll need zis and more zan your God if you're going to get out alive."

Kyle gaped at the man before remembering himself. He took the gun in Mole's hand, it felt heavy. He thought back to the men he had already shot with a heavy heart. He put the lid on the emotions, refusing to open them anytime soon. He was underneath way too much stress. It just couldn't be healthy. Taking a deep breath, he held the gun with both hands and turned, knees pulling him up just barely over the tip of the couch. _Shit,_ he couldn't see but the barest of outlines. Why couldn't they attack in the day? He was going to miss, he just knew it. He lowered himself without pulling the trigger once, heart pounding against his ribs.

"Take a deep breath, like you did before. Zen, pull ze trigger. Let ze outlines and sounds guide you." He stared at Mole in shock, "Hurry up," the man continued. "I'm gonna need cover."

"You really think I can shoot well enough to provide cover already?"

"No, but you'll do over all of ze other eager volunteers," he pushed up to shoot again. When he came back down, he looked Kyle in the eyes, pulling out the bullet canister from the bottom of the gun and taking a filled one from his pocket. "Listen closely, I am going to contact Gregory while I still can. You _must_ make sure I make it zere, am I clear?" He clicked the full bullet pack into the gun.

Kyle found himself nodding before his mind could comprehend the words. "When I give you leave, fire down on zem, give zem Hell." With that said, the brunette placed his own gun in Kyle's hand. "You realize I am putting my life in your hands, oui? Do. Not. Kill. Me."

Before Kyle could protest, the boy leaped up and bolted, practically sliding into the hallway in his haste. Kyle immediately took action before he could even register what was happening fully, giving into adrenaline once more. He fired both guns, one going off and then the other in quick succession. He didn't even know if he was close to hitting anyone. He just knew he had to keep them from moving from their spot to the hallway.

He could hear alarms sound, wondering why they hadn't gone off earlier. Maybe that was the signal? Sweat hit his brow, but he didn't pause to wipe it. One gun was out of bullets now. He heard a grunt and knew he had hit at least one. Red lights turned on, spinning in warning now. He saw them behind the television and its entertainment center, smeared blood and glass covered the ground. He assumed the glass was from the television.

He could barely hear, the alarms buzzing and the gunfire killing his eardrums. They pulsed, feeling as if they were swelling as the sounds became more blocked. He wondered if that was supposed to happen briefly before he felt his gunhand being pushed upward. He shot once more in shock, just as a foot kicked him into the couch.

He heaved in air, one side of his face crushed by the pressure. His other half looked at the aggressor. The lights spun again, allowing him to see a brief glimpse at a man with a cast around his neck. _Damn…_ this must have been the guy from the alley. He felt his hair being grabbed, his head then body pulled with it off of the couch and onto the floor. His hands grasped the hands, nails digging into them in desperation to end the pain and get them off. He was pushed once more to the ground, his hair let go with a push forward. "Shit!" he found himself cursing, hoping Mole wasn't just going to leave him there.

He tensed, waiting for a blow that never came in his weakened position. Instead, he heard a CLANG and a THUD. He glanced back wearily, pain, shock, and blood loss making him dazed. Mole stood there, the man from before lay on the ground at his feet. A bloody shovel was lifted over his shoulder.

"Not going to always be 'ere to save you," he said, smirking, pulling the boy up by the arm gently.

"Who said I'm going to always be needing saved?" he asked, voice coming out between pants. "What happened to the other men?"

"Zey are currently incapacitated. We need to go, now." The brunette pulled him to the hallway, pausing to look in both directions suspiciously. "You are lucky I came back."

Kyle knew he was, but wasn't about to say anything about it. "You're lucky I covered you."

"Ah, but I was ze one who rescued you before zat." he concluded, pulling Kyle slowly through the house, eyes darting from room to room. He went to the bedroom Kyle had become accustomed to, shutting the door quietly. Kyle heard dogs in the background, snarls ripping through the sounds of the alarms. "Merde…"

"They brought _dogs?"_ he asked, confused.

"They 'ave inside information," the man whispered, more to himself than in reply to Kyle. "Zere is no way zis is coincidence. I can't be found 'ere…" He shook his head, "Vat I vouldn't do for a smoke right now, no?"

Mole let his arm go, clicking the light switch on. Ignoring the mess the men had caused in the struggle, he went to the closet and pulled it open. "Ve vill go through ze window." he concluded.

"There's a window in here?" Kyle asked, feeling stupid as he looked at the walls blankly.

Mole smirked, leaving the closet and going to the dresser. He yanked the drawers open and stuffed the bag with items, cigarettes and protein bars being some of them. Kyle didn't say a word at this, knowing it was probably a smart thing to do if men constantly hunted you. Finally, "If you know where to look," he replied. He took out a small black object with a red button on it from deep within the drawer, "And what to do." Pressing the button, the walls around the room moved down into the floor mechanically to show new walls with lighter wallpaper and two windows. Slits where the walls were before could be seen now without the walls to block them. The door stayed where it was, its width into the actual wall now making more sense in alignment with the walls.

Kyle watched, wide eyed and gaping, "Wow," he whispered, finding his mind too blank to figure out what else to say.

Mole smiled at him, going back to the closet and pulling out two pairs of tennis shoes. He pulled on one pair, gesturing Kyle to the other. Kyle raised an eyebrow but said nothing, putting on the slightly too-big shoes. He watched dumbstruck as the Frenchman pulled open a window and threw out the bag, "Come, ze door to ze tunnel out vas open, meaning they know where we might go. We must be quick."

Kyle gave him a look before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. "Anymore guns?" he asked, pulling himself onto the ledge and onto the ground a few feet down.

Mole came out a minute later, holding two new ones, "Of course." he answered, giving one to Kyle before cocking the other one in his hands. "We vill 'ave to run to Gregory himself, he is ze only one who we can trust."


End file.
